Real
by JVM-SP150
Summary: Butters knows that not everything in life is sunshine and rainbows, but sometimes he just wished people would take seriously the things he made him happy.


_Author's Note:_ This particular drabble is dedicated to two friends of mine who are in a relationship that deserves love and support, and to anyone else in a relationship that isn't being taken seriously.

 **South Park**

" **Real"**

A **Buttlotte (Butters x Charlotte)** Drabble

 _by John_

It would never last, that's what people always told him.

Barely real.

More of a phase, really.

They didn't always sat it out loud, of course, but they nearly always thought it. He could hear it in the way they spoke, how they moved, the flow of the conversation. It was painfully obvious.

It was true that few things in life really did last. His dear folks would always be around, even if they weren't, so that was nice enough... his dad could always provide a guiding hand, or dicipline if he deserved it. He always told himself one day the bullying would end, and it did soften some, but...

The truth was, sometimes Butters felt like the worst things in life were often the most constant.

He knew out to try n' stay positive. After all, like Mom always said, the bad times couldn't last. There was always something nice around the corner. But then... didn't that mean the good times couldn't either?

Maybe people were right, he wondered.

Butters considered himself to be a pretty happy person. Sure he woke up screaming... and went to bed screaming... after screaming at multiple points throughout the day...but aside from that, he figured he was pretty happy. He knew the best way to show those who might torment him was to keep on smiling and keep on going.

They wanted to break his spirit, and he couldn't let them do that. Being sad for a while was just part of what would let him be happy again later... he knew happiness was fleeting, of course, but... sometimes he didn't need the outside reminders.

They were right at least sometimes, he was sure, but he didn't remember anyone telling him things wouldn't last when Eric taped fireworks to his back and watched him fly up in the air in a fiery explosion, and God knew nobody believed his stories about grandma coming over and sticking a fork in his leg.

Even if his mother or someone else told him it might not last out of sympathy, it was something they said to be nice, to make him feel better. It wasn't the dismissive, patronizing way they treated him when they talked about the only thing that made him happy half of the time anymore.

He tried not to complain too much, honestly, but things were real rough sometimes. Every day felt like a challenge. That just seemed to be how the world works.

Every day, he'd wake up somehow or another, whether it would be a friend with another scheme, his parents calling him for breakfast, the aftermath of another 'happy' dream, or sometimes just the sound of his own screams. Some of those were more fortunate ways to awaken than others, but he usually preferred breakfast. Maybe it was selfish, but it wasn't so scary, or so messy. It meant he was at least starting well - at least there was promise for the day ahead.

Once in a while he woke up with a smile, a little yawn, a bit of stretching. Itd' be nice. That was rare though.

He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, a habit from the days when Tooth Decay was rampant, singing to himself quietly to keep himself in the mood for the chore, and then changed from whatever his latest cutesy footsie pajamas were, into his usual blue jacket and pants.

His dear old dad read the newspaper at the table, coffee mug in hand, just before he'd leave for work at the tele-marketing company, and Butters would sit down to eat breakfast with him, while his mother would cook. Scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You might want to lay off the bacon, champ, you're getting a little chubby. You wouldn't want to end up like your little friend Eric, would you?" his dad would say.

That wasn't very nice. "Okay." But he had to let it slide.

He was usually alone at the bus stop, playing with the straps of his backpack, since Stan, Kyle, and Eric didn't like him walking down the street over to their stop... but sometimes he'd miss the bus. Sometimes he'd have to walk the whole way there.

Butters did okay in school - as long as he was able to pay attention and take his notes, he'd get by just fine, even if some of the advanced stuff confused him. Math came to him best - it was just logic, and the answers were all there. There were no nuances to comprehend, the way there were in literature, or social studies.

Sometimes those could be more frustrating, especially if he couldn't understand his own notes, or sometimes it felt like Teacher didn't want them to be thinking critically so much as repeating his own opinions. You're a smart kid, Butters, you should think critically. Obviously, the moon landing was fake, right? Teacher gave him lower marks than he deserved on math for not using the Teacher's own equations, but Butters was used to that.

Well, as long as he passed, he'd be fine, right?

During lunch, he usually sat with Eric, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny these days. They used to think they were too cool for him, but ever since he'd been their official friend for a few weeks - why, he couldn't recall - they'd grown more comfortable around him. Stan would talk about something his dad was doing, Kyle about some philosophical issue, and Eric would argue with them about something and ask Butters to back him up, and call Kyle a dirty Jew or something. Kenny didn't speak as often, but he was always candid. Butters had to admire that.

Eric might trip him down the stairs, or Clyde might lie about some of the homework, just to test him, and sometimes the Nurse wasn't too friendly, but even if that happened, Dougie'd play with him at a recess, or he'd play football with the guys, and maybe get a few bruises in the process, if he was lucky.

After school, he tried to find some time to tutor a few kids in math, and sometimes it was nice. A little extra credit on the side, and he got to help people... not everyone was so nice. Some of the first graders saw him as too much like a teacher, who'd ask him if he liked trying to help people with some useless skills. Sometimes, he tried to just help Teacher with odds and ends. It was a little time to be peaceful with himself, with a little less stress, until he'd get home and inevitably be in trouble for some reason or another.

After a walk, there'd usually be a short half-hour when he was home, a little breather, before Mom and Dad came back from work. If he was lucky, he could watch last week's Terrance and Phillip, and try to catch up for the guys, or maybe he'd just feed the hamsters. Then his parents would come home, and inevitably, he'd get chewed out by Dad over something stupid, and have to do some extra chores around the house to make up for it. Help with the taxes. Organize pens.

Then find out one of the hamsters escaped during chore time and have to go chasing for them, and find him chewing on something he shouldn't. Typical. Homework until dinner after that, usually low-key. His parents discussed work for a while, then asked him about his day. He'd be sent back on to chores for a while after that. Nothing too big. Sent to bed early around nine o' clock if Stan or Kyle didn't want his help with some crazy scheme, or worse, Eric. Sometimes he'd put on the Professor Chaos costume and stay up a whole 'nother hour reading.

That was his day, usually. A whole lot of things that wouldn't make a lot of people happy. Definitely not someone like Eric, for sure. Eric would want to see somebody's manager and probably take out... something dangerous. Try to make 'em listen, do what he wants to do. He wished he could be brave n' tough like that. He hated being a softie sometimes.

There was _one_ thing that always helped him keep going though.

Nobody took it seriously of course, it wouldn't last.

Those feelings didn't matter, what they had wasn't real.

Yet, those folks could say whatever they wanted, but Butters knew he _lived_ for that moment at the end of the day when he could relax at his desk, put on his headset, and send out heart emojis and tell Charlotte he loved her, hear her soft voice mangled through the device, tell her all about his day and listen to her talk about her's. Nothing kept him going quite as much as that fuzzy, inexplicable feeling in his heart when he talked to her, when he heard her laugh at his corny jokes.

Nothing felt more real to him than those moments.

He couldn't imagine, wasn't sure he wanted to imagine, a world where the warmth he felt in his heart when he talked to Charlotte was somehow less real than the pain he felt when he lost a tooth falling down the stairs, the burns he sustained being tied to fireworks, the bruises his father gave him when there was rice-a-roni in his coffee.

Some of it was good, and some of it was bad - but it _all_ felt real, to him.

He could... understand why people didn't want to take it seriously, sure. There were cultural barriers to overcome for sure, and they took that seriously. They lived far apart now, but that was something they were prepared to handle. They couldn't hold hands and go out for ice cream again, but whenever he felt alone in bed, he reminded himself that one day, they'd be able to cuddle each other as much as they wanted.

What bothered him was that people couldn't just be happy for him, didn't dare give him the same benefit of the doubt they want from him when they want to talk about supernatural creatures in the woods, or dangerous super-diseases. They couldn't trust him, too concerned his happiness wasn't something real and concrete to them, surely some kind of illusion, a paradise yet to be lost.

"Butters, are you all right, darling?" came Charlotte's voice, a little concerned, "Is there something you want to talk about? You seem quiet."

"Huh?" Butters smiled, "I'm fine, sweetie, 'long as I'm with you." he put his hand up against the screen and watched as she did the same, watching her cheeks flush pink, a little giggle escaping her mouth, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

Happiness was fleeting, sure, but that didn't make it any less real, did it?

 **The End**


End file.
